


It's That Time of Year When the World Falls in Love

by queenofchildren



Category: Still Star-Crossed (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Christmas Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Wedding Fluff, Wedding Planning, well... Enemies to Wedding Planners to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 13:45:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17225144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofchildren/pseuds/queenofchildren
Summary: Planning her cousin's wedding, just before Christmas, with less than three months to pull it off? No problem for Rosaline Capulet. Planning it with an annoying, Christmas-crazy Montague as her partner? That might just be a problem... or it might turn into a kind of Christmas miracle.





	It's That Time of Year When the World Falls in Love

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the Christmas Waltz, which I love as interpreted by She & Him.  
> This fic got away from me a little bit, so there's a lot of things that might look like plot foreshadowing and then never come up again bc I forgot about them. So this is about the level of professionalism we're dealing with here. On the other hand: Rosvolio Christmas fluff.  
> Theoretically written for the Rosvolio Christmas Miracle, but honestly I'm not sure I managed to stick to any of the prompts.

*** _Rosaline_ ***

"So with this seating chart, we should have a solid chance that no one will get killed during your wedding."

With one last sweeping glance over the seating chart in question, Rosaline leans back, proud of a job well done. It took her two weeks, a complicated spreadsheet and several table-sized posters to finish it, but she did: Her little cousin may be getting married to the youngest offspring of the family their own family has been at war with for generations, but there's not going to be any feuding during the wedding – not on her watch. And she does feel very much like it's her job to ensure that, because it may be Juliet's wedding, but her cousin is way too busy being in love and coming up with ever more whimsical ideas for games and giveaways and decorations to actually focus on the practical planning for the event. Livia has just finished med school and started her internship in a hospital across the country, so while she would be helpful, Rosaline has no intention of adding wedding planning on top of her already stressful schedule. And sure, her own schedule is stressful enough, considering she only just started as a junior partner at the city's most reputable law firm and has yet to snag her first client – but she certainly won't let her aunt take over and turn this wedding into a flashy, stuffy affair aimed exclusively at getting a write-up in the local paper. No, she'll simply have to plan this thing alone, Rosaline has decided.

Luckily, Rosaline loves planning things.

Unluckily, she's been burdened in her task with a partner and, well, there's not much love lost between them.

The moment he heard that Romeo and Juliet were planning to get married with a big party just before Christmas, Romeo's cousin decided to butt in and “help” with the planning. The happy couple thought it was a great idea, and now instead of getting to plan the party the way she would prefer to, with a strategy and a tight grip on the budget and a folder full of orderly notes, Rosaline has to put up with Romeo's annoying Montague cousin, who comes up with a new crazy idea every other day, who is incapable of carrying out the simplest of commands and who, worst of all, seems determined to turn the party – which is scheduled for _early_ December – into a second, earlier Christmas.

And of course, now too he can't resist the opportunity to make this moment all about himself and his ideas.

"That's a great plan, Capulet, but it doesn't account for the ice sculpture."

"That's because there is no ice sculpture."

A slow grin appears on his face.

"Oh, but there will be."

Juliet shrieks. "You've found a sculptor?"

Slowly, Rosaline remembers: They talked about this before, briefly, and Juliet was immediately taken with the idea. But it hasn't been brought up since, and Rosaline has been hoping Juliet would forget about it again.

Which she would have, if it weren't for the stupid, too smug for his own good Montague.

"Let's just say I know a guy."

“You _know a guy_? Are we planning to hire a hitman?”

Benvolio is unfazed by her sarcastic remark.

“That'd be a different guy, Capulet – keep up.”

As if that wasn't enough to irritate the hell out of her, he actually has the audacity to tap his pen against her nose – a gesture he no doubt considers charmingly irreverent but which just makes her want to slap that patronising grin off his face. Planning this party, during the busiest season of the year, with most of the guests actively hating each other, was complicated enough from the start. Benvolio Montague has turned it into a nightmare – and he doesn't even seem to realize it.

Because while Rosaline is busy laying the groundwork – booking a venue, getting offers from caterers, finding a date that suits most of the people on the guest list – Benvolio's contribution has mostly been throwing out ridiculous ideas at the worst times, making doodles of statically impossible cakes, and demanding that there be “more Christmas”.

First, Rosaline thought he was joking. Now, three weeks into the planning, she knows he was not: Benvolio is hell-bent on turning what Rosaline envisioned as a tasteful, winter-themed event into a red-and-green, cinnamon-scented nightmare – and Romeo and Juliet are doing nothing to stop him.

Which is a problem, because not only do Benvolio's ideas have a tendency to be impractical, expensive and completely over the top – all of which, unfortunately, their cousins love – but they're also increasingly putting her on edge.

So, as the wedding slowly approaches, Rosaline is quickly approaching the end of her tether – and it's only a matter of time until she reaches it.

But right now is not that moment yet – she has an ice sculpture to prevent and a wedding to plan.

“Now, next up: I've managed to find one caterer who isn't booked out doing a Christmas party on the day of the wedding, so I've made an appointment to plan a menu...”  
  


*** _Benvolio_ ***

Planning his little cousin's wedding is perhaps the most unexpected challenge Benvolio has ever taken on, but it could also be the most fun – if it weren't for his partner, the cousin of the bride-to-be.

It's not that Rosaline Capulet is bad at planning – on the contrary, she's approaching the whole thing with the discipline and determination of a General leading his troops into battle. Considering their cousins decided to get married on a whim and expect them to pull off a miracle of a wedding in less than three months, she already has a lot to show for her efforts by the time he joins in, including a booking for a beautiful venue on three months' notice that Benvolio is pretty sure she killed someone to get.

So, Rosaline Capulet's wedding-planning skills are certainly impressive – it's just that the woman herself is impossible to work with.

She tries to shoot down all his ideas without even considering them, and seems hell-bent on taking all the fun out of their task. But worst of all, she's trying to take all the _Christmas_ out of their party – and that is where Benvolio has to draw the line. Especially when her protest erupts, once again, over what he thinks is his finest idea yet.

“A Gingerbread House? You're proposing a _Gingerbread House_ as a wedding cake?”

“It will go beautifully with the theme, and Romeo and Juliet will love it. It's... whimsical.”

“It's ridiculous.”

“Just because you don't have a sense of humor doesn't mean no one else can appreciate a fun twist on a boring old wedding cake.”

“It's not about humor. It's about the fact that this whole Christmas thing is getting out of hand.”

Of course she'd be against it, he thinks with annoyance – for some reason, the woman seems to hate Christmas.

"Because of one gingerbread house?"

"Because of _everything_ you're trying to do! We're planning a wedding, not... Santa's village!"

"Yeah, the wedding of two people who specifically decided to get married just before Christmas because they love it so much! Why take away from that?"

"Because the whole Christmas spirit thing is already out of control. Can't people just have one evening where it isn't being shoved down their throats?"

"What's wrong with a little Christmas spirit?"

" _A little_? Christmas is _everywhere_. It's a disease!"

Benvolio has been trying to remain calm, his questions only meant to gently probe into her reason for being so adamantly anti-Christmas. But now that he's heard that reason, he can't help but be a little offended.

“A _disease_? Christmas is the best part of the year! The one thing that gets us all through the darkest nights, brings us together with our families, reminds us that there's light in the world and joy in giving. Christmas is...”

He has a whole speech ready for this, because he's had similar arguments with Mercutio who only ever appreciates Christmas for the chance to sneak into office parties and make out with drunk partygoers.

But Rosaline, to add rudeness to the list of reasons she's driving him crazy, simply cuts him off.

"Look, not everyone loves Christmas as much as you do, alright? So can we just hit pause on the whole "merry and bright"-bullshit for a moment and get this wedding organized?“

That completely throws him for a loop. He's already blown his speech on Christmas – a speech that successfully persuades Mercutio to come to his uncle's Christmas dinner every single year – and Benvolio doesn't know what else to say to make his point.

But that doesn't mean he'll let her have the last word.

"Honestly, what kind of monster doesn't like Christmas?"

He didn't think his muttered words would have much of an effect, but Rosaline suddenly jumps to her feet, grabs her phone and throws it in her purse. She pauses only briefly to look at him, pure fire in her eyes, and spew:

“You know what? If you love it so much, you can just do the whole thing on your own.“

Then she grabs her jacket and storms out of the coffee shop they'd been sitting in for the last three hours, causing more than a few turned heads on her way out.

“I will,” Benvolio calls after her, sounding more petulant than he intended. “Just you watch!”

The collective heads of the other patrons swivel back as one to glare at him, as if he personally chased Rosaline off with some form of villainy.

Benvolio ignores them – _he's_ not the villain here. Granted, calling Rosaline a monster may not have been the nicest choice of words. But he didn't _really_ mean it – she has to know that, right?

In any case, he's not going to sit around wondering if he hurt Rosaline Capulet's tender feelings – he has a wedding to plan.

And sure, that looks like a daunting task now that Rosaline has stormed off and left behind a folder full of notes and plans that suddenly seems intimidatingly thick.

But how hard can it be, really?

 

*** Rosaline ***

Taking a break from the wedding planning madness is a welcome reprieve, Rosaline finds – although she does find it difficult not to feel at least a little bit guilty about walking away. Then again, the Montague was so sure he could do just as good of a job as she can, so what's there to feel guilty about? There will be a wedding with or without her. There's no more need for her to stress herself out fighting with Benvolio Montague over ice sculptures and gingerbread houses.

Of course, that doesn't stop her from still thinking about the wedding, wondering if he followed up with the caterer and decided to place an order for the flowers before it's too late. She spends her nights envisioning the horrors she'll find once Benvolio is done with his planning: Gigantic ice statues, a buffet that consists entirely of gingerbread cookies, and a décor fresh out of the tackiest shop window.

So, as enjoyable as it is not to be dealing with the Montague's smug attitude, his crazy ideas, and his penchant to flirt with the barista whenever they meet at the coffee shop that has become their base of operations, she's still almost relieved when he calls her one week after she walked out.

“Alright I learned my lesson. Now please come back, Capulet.”

Instantly, her relief turns into irritation – a much more reliable feeling when it comes to him, really.

“Why, so you can ignore all my concerns while you push through your Christmas agenda?”

The fact that he doesn't make fun of the phrase “Christmas agenda” is her first clue that things are more dire than she thought.

“Because I need you, okay? I can't plan this thing on my own. And I know you think I'm the scum of the earth for some reason, but I do love my cousin and I want him to have a great wedding. So can we just bury the hatchet until we've pulled this off?”

Rosaline doesn't know what to say. His pleading sounds so earnest – but she doesn't know if it's enough for her to trust him to actually cooperate this time around.

“I cancelled the ice sculpture.”

He blurts it out almost desperately, dropping the words into her silence as if he expects them to magically change her mind. When they don't, he continues:

“You were right, it does take up too much space and will only make a mess.”

He's quoting back her exact words from the last time they had a discussion about the ice sculpture , and together with the information that he actually made a concession to her wishes, that's what finally tips her over.

“I made an appointment to talk to the caterer this evening. I hope you haven't cancelled it yet.”

“I haven't,” he says – but just when she thinks that maybe she underestimated him, he adds: “Mostly because I forgot we had that appointment.”

“You're completely fucked without me, aren't you.”

“Pretty much.”

Rosaline sighs. A vindictive little part of her still wants to hang up and see him crash and burn. But as Benvolio himself has pointed out, this isn't about them – it's about giving their cousins a beautiful wedding.

“I'll see you at eight tonight then.”

“Where exactly...”

“I left you my notes. Figure it out yourself.”

She hangs up without another word – he'll have to do _some_ of the work at least.

Still, when she leaves the house to head to their meeting with the caterer later, it is with a sense of relief – even though it was her own choice to bow out of the planning, she felt pretty shitty about it. After all, her cousin is relying on her – and no matter how annoyed she got with Benvolio and his Christmas madness, Rosaline has never been one to let people down.

The meeting with the caterer goes well, reasonably, except that Rosaline was hoping they'd be able to score a discount that is elegantly refused. Still, even without it their price is reasonable, and Rosaline is optimistic that they'll get back on track – but they do still have a lot of work ahead of them, and she tells Benvolio this without any attempt to downplay it.

But Benvolio is undaunted.

“So you're back in?”

“I am. But I have conditions.”

“They're accepted. All of them.”

“You haven't even heard them yet.”

“I don't have to. I wasn't joking when I said I need you – you'll get whatever you want. I won't even mention Christmas anymore, if it bugs you.”

Again there's his knack for being painfully earnest, the pleading tone of his voice supported by his wide-eyed expression, and again it softens her up even against her will.

“We don't have to drop the Christmas theme entirely. Just... tone it down a little.”

“Can we keep the gingerbread house?”

Rosaline sighs – it's been a long day at work, and then the meeting with the caterer ran longer than she thought it would. She's so exhausted, she didn't even decline his offer of a drive home – she's simply not in the mood to argue with him any more.

“How about a Gingerbread House-themed cake?”

“That's a compromise I'm willing to make.”

The car comes to a stop, and only now does Rosaline realize they're outside her apartment. She suppresses a yawn and starts getting out of the car.

“I'll see you tomorrow after work, same time as always. We'll have a look at what needs doing then.”

Benvolio nods eagerly.

“Good plan.” And then, just before she's shut the door: “Thank you, Capulet. For coming back.”

“Don't make me regret it,” she calls over her shoulder and walks off towards her house without looking back.

Benvolio drives off without another smart comeback for once.

But the next day, when she gets to the coffee shop, located exactly midway between their apartments, he's there, sitting at their usual table with her folder opened up before him and an extra cup of coffee already on the table for her.

“Black, no sugar. And no cinnamon – this is a Christmas-free coffee.”

Rosaline rolls her eyes – honestly, does he have to act like she's the Grinch? But she sits down and takes the coffee anyway.

“Good. Let's get to work.”

And there's still a lot of work to do, but Benvolio did not mess up as bad as she thought. He may not be as methodical as she is, but he tried to keep up with everything and even came up with a cute design for the invitations – Christmas-themed, yes, but not nearly as kitschy as she was afraid it would be.

They dive right into it with no further discussion on the nature of Christmas and how much it should play a part in that wedding, and when Rosaline gets up to get her third coffee, she thinks she can say with some confidence that they're making progress. Feeling downright magnanimous, she brings back another coffee for Benvolio, who seems to really need it: When she joins him at their table, he's currently in the middle of a drawn-out yawn.

She was going to bring up just one more point on their to-do-list. But now that she's noticed one sign of how tired he is, she can easily make out more – the dark circles under his eyes, the slumped posture, the hair that looks like it hasn't seen a comb in a week. Maybe after working through two evenings in a row, she can let him have a break.

“I think we can call it a day. Everything else on the list isn't quite as urgent. The placecards and the guest giveaways we can still come up with some other time.”

Benvolio nods and smiles gratefully when she sets the coffee down before him.

“Thanks. I am a little tired – things have really been picking up at work lately.”

Rosaline nods understandingly, for once not tempted to say something scathing. When she was first told that he works as an assistant at an art gallery, she thought it was just one of those rich people-things – the kind of job someone who doesn't need to worry about money does for a few hours on the side, until they take that cushy job on the board of the family company. But by now she knows that not only does he actually spend a lot of time at work, but he also does photography gigs on the side, and Rosaline has to admit he does seem to be working hard.

“Because of Christmas?”

She hadn't thought the art world would have a seasonal rush before Christmas, but Benvolio nods.

“That, and we're putting together a new exhibit – and I'm allowed to curate it. It's the first time my boss let me do it, so it's kind of a make or break-opportunity.”

She hadn't known that, of course, but it makes her feel a little bad about giving him such a hard time. The fact that he's helping with this wedding while he has such a big project going on at work really speaks to his devotion.

“What's it about? The exhibit?”

Benvolio looks mistrustful for a moment, perhaps unsure what to make of her sudden interest in his work – but he starts to explain anyway.

“It's a mixed-medium, mixed-genre type of thing, but the overarching theme is family. You see...”

Benvolio launches into an explanation on the concept for his exhibit. There's a lot of art lingo in there that she doesn't understand, but his explanation is so animated, his passion so genuine, that Rosaline finds she doesn't mind. Leaning back, she keeps sipping on her coffee as she listens, unsure how much time passes – until suddenly, the scrape of a chair makes her look up, and she realizes the barista has begun putting up chairs on the tables, no doubt to clean up and close for the night. They're the only guests still in here, and the barista is not shy about sending signals that they should better get going too – putting things away with impressive clatter, glaring at them whenever she passes by...

Benvolio notices it too, because he breaks off his explanation abruptly.

“Look at me, rambling on about my exhibit. I hope I didn't bore you.”

“You didn't”, Rosaline says and actually means it, to her own surprise. “But I think the barista wants to close up shop.”

Benvolio nods, then gets to his feet and picks up their two coffee mugs to carry them back to the bar while Rosaline packs up their things. She watches him interact briefly with the woman angrily wiping down the counter, and a few smiles later, the barista is looking a lot friendlier and even waves back when they wave goodbye.

“Just making sure we'll be welcome to return here, " Benvolio explains when he sees her amused expression.

“And getting her number?” Rosaline asks teasingly – it sure looked like there was more than small-talk going on just now, although she isn't sure why that should be any of her business.

“Nah, not tonight.”

“Are you saying you already have a date for the wedding?”

Benvolio freezes mid-movement while holding up the door for her, wide-eyed.

“We need to bring a date?”

"I mean, we don't have to, I just thought you might... What do you usually do at weddings?"

"I hook up with one of the bridesmaids, of course. Or the Maid of Honour." The grin accompanying the words is downright wolfish, and Rosaline blushes when she realises why – the only bridesmaid is her sister, and the Maid of Honour herself.

"You better get yourself a date then, because that is _not_ happening at this wedding."

Benvolio chuckles.

"We'll see about that."

"Oh, we won't – because if I catch you so much as trying to hit on my sister, you'll be the one turned into an ice statue."

And just to stress that this is where she considers the conversation closed, Rosaline turns left and starts walking home, knowing full well that Benvolio's way home leads in the opposite direction.

But of course, Benvolio won't let it rest just like that.

"I'll just have to hit on you then," he suggests cheekily.

"I'd like to see you try."

She throws it back over her shoulder and hears his laughter behind her even as she speeds up.

Too late, it occurs to her that what she just said sounded an awful lot like a challenge.

 

***Benvolio ***

Benvolio is not a proud man, nor, he thinks, is his ego quite as big as Rosaline Capulet seems to believe. He can and will admit when he was wrong about something – and it seems like the thing he was wrong about this time was Rosaline herself. It was all too easy to tease her about being a Grinch and to delight in watching her try not to tear out her hair in frustration at his crazy ideas (not bad ideas, he wants to stress, just... creative ones). But having to work on this wedding by himself has taught him that maybe her reasons for being so humorless about the whole thing were, well, not entirely wrong. It is a big project, one that requires a lot of planning and discipline and sensible decisions, and maybe he wasn't really bringing any of those things to the table, before.

So, having once admitted that she was right to approach the wedding-planning the way she did, Benvolio has no problem taking a leaf out of her book and resolving to be a little more responsible himself, because whimsical ideas are nice, but no matter how convinced he is that the couple will like them, hanging out with Rosaline has taught him that they're not happening unless he really thinks them through, all the way to the boring details.

"Now, I know some of the things I'm envisioning for the flowers won't come cheap, especially the centerpieces. But I've asked around for quotes from florists, and mostly, the expensive stuff gets balanced out by the parts that are cheap, like the fir branches. And besides, I've managed to get the venue to throw in the table cloths and chair covers for free, so that should help the budget."

This leaves Rosaline stunned for a moment, coffee cup hovering halfway to her mouth. Benvolio can't help but feel smugly proud about it: Clearly, she did not expect him to have thought this through as thoroughly as he did. And before she left, he wouldn't have. But now that he knows just how much work goes into details like quotes and bulk pricing and return policies, he felt bad about leaving all of it to her. And now, with her staring at him as if he had just invented the wheel, Benvolio feels like maybe all that hard, boring work was worth it after all.

"You got a deal from the venue? I've been trying to get them to lower the price for the napkins and tablecloths for weeks!"

"I know, which is how I knew they were overpriced in the first place."

"But what did you do to get them to offer it?" Her voice goes shrill all of a sudden, her expression suddenly turning to horror. "You didn't let them talk you into moving to the bigger hall, did you? Because that one is way out of our price range."

"Relax, Capulet – I didn't _do_ anything. I just asked again, _nicely_ , and they said yes. Plus, they like me more than you."

Rosaline stares at him distrustfully for a moment, before the penny finally drops.

"You flirted with the manager."

"We had a bit of a chat," Benvolio replies innocently, only to ruin that effect by smiling salaciously as he adds: "Over some wine."

"Oh God, you slept with her, didn't you?"

"So what if I did?" Benvolio shrugs. "I'm single, she's hot. But just so you know, I did _not_ sleep with her, actually. I took her out for a glass of wine, we chatted, I left things open. And that was _after_ she'd already given me the discount. It's not like I whored myself out to get it."

He says it teasingly, but a small part of him feels stung by how easily the suspicion came to her. Is that really what she thinks of him? He hasn't exactly been living like a monk, that's true, but he's not _quite_ the manwhore she seems to think.

But to his surprise, Rosaline's initial disgust at her theory of how he got that discount seems to fade, replaced by sudden interest.

"Think you could take the caterer out for a drink too?"

"Really, Capulet? You're pimping me out now?"

"I'm not..." Rosaline starts to protest, and Benvolio presses a finger to her lips to silence her.

“Now, don't be modest – you're finally approaching this project like a true evil mastermind. Own your evil ways.”

She slaps away his hand and draws back, and Benvolio watches her roll her eyes with a laugh.

“Keep going like this, and I'll show you how evil I can be.”

It's an empty threat, of course – and so unlike her that Benvolio can't resist teasing her a little more, seeing just how far he can push her. He leans forward, taking away the distance she just put between them.

“Is that a promise, Capulet?” He holds her surprised gaze for just a moment too long, licks his lips suggestively because dammit, this is fun. “And here I thought you were a _good_ girl.”

She's definitely getting flustered now, he thinks, and then somehow his brain keeps supplying observations about her and begins to comment on how lively that flush in her cheeks makes her look, how long her lashes are when she looks down in embarrassment.

And just like that, _he's_ the one feeling flustered. He was aware that she's attractive, obviously, because it's hard to miss, but he hadn't thought about it as something that might affect _him_ – not when he's usually too busy thinking up good comebacks to notice how her eyes sparkle when she's yelling at him. Now, suddenly, he finds that she might be affecting him very much.

What he doesn't know is how he feels about it.

 

*** Rosaline ***

Now that they're back on track, the preparations continue with things going just a little smoother each day. Maybe their little blow-up was necessary to clear the air and clear up some misconceptions – like the fact that Benvolio seems to think her being thorough and methodical is her specific way of torturing him, when really, she just wants to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.

And maybe, she has to admit a few nights later, she might have made some incorrect assumptions about him too. Because Benvolio might be all about the fun, but he doesn't entirely neglect their serious, boring tasks either. When Benvolio pulls out a lovingly drawn sketch of some stunning table centerpieces, Rosaline assumes it's nothing more than that, a first draft of some outlandish plan that she'll have to figure out how to procure and budget. But Benvolio surprises her: This time, his suggestion goes beyond a crazy idea and a pretty sketch. He's actually thought about how to budget his proposal, asked for offers from different florists, and figured out a way to make the more extravagant parts of his scheme work with their budget.

In short, he did what she wanted him to do all along and tried to make things easier for her instead of more difficult, and she's so grateful for it that she even forgives him when he follows his brief display of decent behaviour by teasing her mercilessly.

He's making an effort, and he continues to do so for the rest of the preparations. By the time the rehearsal dinner comes around, she really doesn't have anything to complain about – Benvolio didn't try to bring up the ice sculpture anymore, didn't throw out any new outlandish ideas, and he made sure to take on as much of the actual work as she is. He even seemed worried about her stressing herself out too much over this wedding, especially after she arrived late and frazzled and completely starved after a hectic day at work and he gets it out of her just how much pressure she's under even without the wedding project. That night, Benvolio dragged her from the coffee shop to a diner and made her sit down and eat an entire burger while he went over all the calculations she meant to do but didn't have time, practically forbidding her from continuing to work, and Rosaline was happy to simply let someone else take the reins and look after herself for once.

So, once the night of the rehearsal dinner comes around, Rosaline can say that they've truly grown into a team, partners working together seamlessly to make this wedding a success. They've gathered the entire wedding party to help set up the venue before heading to the rehearsal dinner, and though she hasn't seen Benvolio's centerpieces and decorations yet, Rosaline is determined to be magnanimous about them – she knows by now that he really did work hard on them.

Rosaline arrives later than the rest of the party due to a quick detour to the printer to pick up the menu cards, and finds the others already busy folding napkins and setting down place cards. Under Benvolio's command, everyone has been busy getting the venue ready, and it shows: Most of the lights and decorations are up, the flowers are laid out or placed into their vases, and everything looks startlingly like it did in Benvolio's sketch.

And contrary to her earlier concerns, Benvolio's concept doesn't look tacky at all – it looks beautiful.

It explains why Benvolio always sounds so reverent when he rants about the spirit of Christmas – because this is what he must be seeing before his inner eye: Not the commercialized idea pushed by ads and shopfronts and TV specials but the _real_ spirit of the holiday; the innocent, glorious wonder of a child gazing at the Christmas tree. This is what Christmas is _supposed_ to feel like, what it felt like when they were children and everything was still the way it should be.

For a moment, Rosaline can actually _feel_ it – the waiting, the mounting excitement, that moment of awe when their mother first let them see the beautifully decorated tree and they approached it, slowly and reverently... It causes such a wave of overwhelming nostalgia to hit her that she's completely paralyzed for a moment, struck silent in the doorway of the banquet hall.

She's had to do a lot of adjusting of her opinions over the past few weeks, but if she had any doubts left about her partnership with the Montague, they're all gone now: Rosaline may have done the heavy lifting on the logistics for this wedding, but Benvolio? Benvolio brought the _heart_.

Although, to hear him talk, he didn't contribute anything at all: When she finally regains her composure and actually steps into the venue to greet everyone gathered there, Benvolio immediately launches into a speech on what a great job Rosaline did procuring the venue and the caterer and just all around making the wedding happen, to a point where it sounds like she did it all by herself and Rosaline feels a little embarrassed.

"You make it sound like you didn't do anything – the decorations are all your doing. And let's not forget," she smiles mischievously, "you were even prepared to sleep with the caterer for cheaper linens."

Livia, Juliet and Romeo gasp in shock, Mercutio grins, and Benvolio just shrugs.

"Anything to make sure this wedding turns out great." Then, spotting his cousin's scandalized expression, he quickly explains: “I didn't _actually_ sleep with the caterer.”

“Good. Because I could have sworn you...”

For some reason, Romeo breaks off on a strangled squeak just then and never actually ends the sentence. But Rosaline doesn't get around to wondering what he was going to say before she's called away by her aunt who, under the guise of asking about the placecards, takes the opportunity to complain about her seating-chart – something Rosaline has anticipated, but which nonetheless leads to a lengthy, exhausting discussion. The couple may be happy about their wedding, but that does not mean everyone is.

As soon as her aunt is finished trying (and failing) to topple Rosaline's carefully planned seating chart, Romeo's father comes up to complain about the size of the gift table – too small, of course, for the staggering amount of presents he expects his son to receive – followed in turn by her own uncle, who is somehow confused that their Christmas-themed, red and green decorative scheme does not contain a nod to the Capulet house colour of royal blue (which, who even has house colours anymore?).

After that, Rosaline thinks she's done quite enough arguing about things no one who matters cares about, and silently slips out to the balcony beside the hall, just to get a breather for a moment.

She should feel nothing but relief and happiness right now, because Juliet and Romeo like their ideas for the wedding and everything seems poised to go off without a hitch tomorrow. And indeed, she has nothing whatsoever to complain about on that front. (The complaints from the couple's parents were completely expected, and she thinks she handled them reasonably well.)

But there's something else rattling around inside her, something knocked loose by the sight of Benvolio's spot-on hommage to Christmas, and it makes an ache spread inside her that she doesn't know how to stop.

So, she decides, she'll let herself have one moment to deal with it – it's not like anyone is even going to notice she's gone.

 

*** Benvolio ***

They've finally, actually made it.

Well, not entirely – the wedding isn't until tomorrow. But they've made it to the night before, and not only did they manage not to kill each other, but they even put together what promises to be a decent wedding, Benvolio thinks.

The only thing missing is the ice sculpture he'd been planning, but maybe Rosaline was right about that being more of a hassle than it was worth it. And in any case, the venue still looks nice, he thinks, festive and cheerful but very much _not_ tacky. He'll have to remember to take Rosaline aside and make her say so, out loud, later – in fact, he's dying to hear Rosaline's thoughts on how it all turned out, because everything she was responsible for has worked out beautifully, and, well, he just wants to be sure that she's also happy with the parts that he was in charge of.

Not because of his ego, or so he can rub it under her nose that he is in fact a lot more competent than she first gave him credit for – an instinct that, just a few weeks ago, would have been his driving force, really. But they're friends now, this is no longer about what he did and what she did (a hell of a lot more, if he's honest) but about what they accomplished together. And most of all, it's about the fact that Rosaline has been working her ass off for this wedding and he just wants her to be happy with it – _all_ of it.

(It's not, he tells himself, because he wants her to be happy with him, and what he contributed, or because he knows by now how she looks when he surprises her or because he _wants_ to know how she looks when she's really, truly happy. _That_ has nothing to do with any of it.)

And in any case, it doesn't seem like he'll get to find out just yet, because Rosaline's gone, he realizes suddenly – but even as he's looking around for her, he thinks he sees the door to the balcony swing shut, sees the bright turquoise of her winter coat disappear into the darkness out on the balcony.

He follows it without hesitation, grabbing his jacket off the chair he threw it on earlier to follow her outside into the cold.

"Capulet? What are you doing out here?"

Rosaline doesn't even turn around to look at him, and his stomach sinks. Did he misjudge her earlier smile, is she unhappy with the decorations after all?

"I just need a moment of quiet."

Her voice implies that she'd like to have that moment alone. But there's something else to it, a weight that can't possibly be attributed to wedding decorations alone, and Benvolio doesn't like leaving her alone with it. As long as she doesn't outright tell him to go away, Benvolio decides, he'll be staying right here.

"Are you having a wedding crisis?"

"A what?"

"You know what I mean – that feeling you get when you're watching someone else get married and you think "what about me?", and then you get all mopey and drink too much and hit on the wrong people."

This doesn't really get him an answer, but it does make her smile.

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Hey, weddings get to all of us, even the toughest. Are you saying you've never been moping about at a wedding, considering calling your ex?"

"I haven't."

"Come on! At the very least, you've been thinking about texting him."

"I really haven't. It's been months since Escalus and I broke up – I'm absolutely over him."

"Well," he says slowly, needing a moment to deal with the fact that this bit of information makes him strangely happy, "then I guess you're tougher than the rest of us. So what's driving you out here? Is it the decorations? Do you hate them?"

He says it teasingly, but Rosaline's reply comes quickly and earnestly, as if she didn't want him to question himself any longer than necessary. He finds it oddly touching.

"I don't hate them. I really like them, actually – I think you've done a great job."

Normally, he would make a big deal out of these words, ask her to repeat them so he can gloat about her praise. But she still looks troubled, and he knows this is not the time.

"Seriously though, what's wrong? I promise I won't tell anyone that I caught you having emotions."

"You're an ass."

"Maybe. But I'm an ass who's willing to listen, if you need someone like that."

She looks over at him, studying him with a look of uncertainty – then she seems to make a decision.

"I didn't always hate Christmas."

It's such an out-of-nowhere statement that Benvolio has no idea what to reply. But perhaps a reply isn't needed anyway, because Rosaline is already explaining.

"Back when my parents were still alive, we used to do all the Christmas things too – the lights and decorations and cookies and the tree, of course. We didn't go all out like Juliet likes to do, but we had fun. And some of those things, like putting up the lights and getting the tree, were the parts I loved most, because I got to do those with my Dad, just me and him. Livia was still too young, so it was always our thing." She smiles sadly. "I guess that's why all that Christmas cheer just makes me sad – it reminds me of what we used to have."

She falls silent for a moment, staring off into the distance, before she breaks her own silence with a laugh, short and embarrassed.

“I'm sorry, here I am going on about Christmases that are long gone...”

“Don't apologize, please. I... I'm glad that you shared this. It explains a lot.”

“It does?”

“About why you've been so set against the Christmas theme. In a way, you're doing the same thing I am, just taking a different approach: I'm trying to hold on to the Christmases I used to have, and you're trying not to be reminded of them.”

Another long glance, then a quiet, contemplative agreement:

“Yeah. I guess that's it.”

He should probably leave it at that – Rosaline Capulet, he has learned by now, is not one to easily share her feelings, and he should be content with what he got so far. But now that she has allowed him this little bit of personal insight, he finds that he wants _more_.

"So, you don't celebrate Christmas at all?"

"Sure, I celebrate it. I usually spend the day itself with Livia, provided neither of us has to work. And then there's the obligatory awful dinner at my aunt and uncle's that is basically them just listing all the ways they feel I've failed the family…"

Benvolio groans, because that sounds all too familiar, and Rosaline turns her head to look at him questioningly.

"Sounds like your Christmas experience isn't all that different from mine," he explains.

Rosaline's eyes widen in surprise.

"Wait, are you saying your Christmas isn't quite as magical as you claim?"

Benvolio feels his lips tighten into a grim line, giving away his feelings before he can stop himself.

"Not entirely. But that doesn't mean I can't at least _try_ and make it magical, right?"

Rosaline's expression softens, and Benvolio's breath catches for a moment at how beautiful she looks like this, glowing under the fairy lights strung up on the balcony, and for once not glaring at him.

"I'm sorry, that you're not getting the perfect Christmas you want. You deserve it."

The words seem to hit him right in the chest, prompting an ache that isn't quite sadness or happiness but a little bit of both – mixed in with a whole lot of affection for the woman before him. He's been making things so difficult for her with his “Christmas agenda” as she called it, and yet here she is, so earnestly sympathetic now that she knows what's behind it.

"I'm sorry too. For not listening, for pushing the whole Christmas theme on you… for calling you a monster..." He swallows nervously. "You know I didn't mean it, right? I know we bicker, but I would never seriously say something like that about you."

"I know."

Rosaline's expression is still soft and open, and there's even a small smile on her face. And it is this small smile that makes him blurt out his next words.

"I actually think you're pretty great."

He can see her breath hitch, her eyes widen in surprise – but the sarcastic comeback he expects, the joke at his sudden, pathetically earnest declaration, does not come.

Unfortunately, neither does any other reaction, because the door behind them swings open and Romeo pops out his head.

“Here you are! Are you coming back in? Because we're done setting up, so we should head to the restaurant for the dinner.”

With that, he retreats – only to pop back out again a second later.

“What are you even doing out here?”

Honestly, Benvolio doesn't know. What _were_ they doing, before he stumbled right into some clumsy declaration of... what, exactly? _Feelings_? He wasn't even aware he _had_ feelings for her – but even if he does, _that's_ how he chose to share them?

Benvolio has always prided himself on being pretty charming, quick with a compliment or a line that will win over hearts (or open zippers, at the very least). He does _not_ get tongue-tied and awkwardly call a gorgeous woman “pretty great”. It's just not his _style_ – but then again, nothing is quite as it should be when Rosaline Capulet is around, he's found.

“Guys?”, Romeo prods, and Benvolio tries to remember what his cousin was asking, and what he was about to respond. They were just talking, of course, about the reason Rosaline hates Christmas. A deeply personal reason – and something he doesn't think she'd want his cousin to know.

“Going over some last-minute wedding stuff. We'll be right back inside.”

Rosaline shoots him a grateful smile before turning towards Romeo and the door.

“We're all done now, though. Let's go get dinner.”

Dinner goes off without a hitch – well, barring their uncles' self-aggrandizing speeches and her aunt trying to get Juliet to change the colour of the bridesmaids' dresses at the last minute – and by the time he says goodbye to Rosaline outside the restaurant, Benvolio feels more optimistic about the wedding than ever. He's pretty sure that she's still worried about the wedding though, because Rosaline's always worried about something, and he wants her to be just as optimistic, just as sure that they did a good job. So, under the guise of being chivalrous and holding open the door for her, he steps towards her.

He intends to say something reassuring – everything will go great, she has no reason to worry... something like that.

But then she turns towards him, fragrant curls swishing past his face as she moves, and brushes a kiss to his cheek, and suddenly he forgets everything he was planning to say.

“See you tomorrow, Montague.”

She's already in her car with the door slammed shut when it finally occurs to him to answer.

“See you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow begins early due to wedding preparations – although not nearly as early as it does for the bride's side of the wedding, judging by the fact that the first time Rosaline texts him is at 6 am, at which point Benvolio still has plenty of time left to go right back to the last thing he was thinking about before he finally fell asleep last night: The fact that he might just have a bit of a crush on the Maid of Honour – as evidenced by his stunning declaration of “I think you're great” and the awkward, tongue-tied goodbye that followed it, complete with a flutter in his stomach when she kissed him (on the cheek!).

At least, a _crush_ is what he would have classified it as last night.

This morning, when he meets her in the church vestibule, he realizes he'll have to reclassify that. Because in the bridesmaid's outfit Juliet picked for her – a dark green silk dress in a classic Hollywood bombshell cut, with a white faux fur-shawl draped across her shoulders – Rosaline looks absolutely stunning. But really, what gets to him isn't the dress, or the hair – it's the way she smiles at him when he comes in, like she's actually glad to see him, and his stomach flips.

Then she shoves a box of programmes at him and tells him to set them out on the chairs, and just like that, things are back to normal.

Well, not _entirely_ normal – there's still the fact that he's falling for Rosaline Capulet and has no idea how to deal with it. But they have a wedding to run, so that's what he'll focus on for the rest of the day.

It's a resolution he manages to stick to, which makes things a lot less awkward for the rest of the day (he even manages to forget about “I actually think you're pretty great”, which sounds more and more stupid every time he hears it replayed in his head).

By the time dinner is over and the couple are having their first dance, Benvolio thinks he's done a pretty good job – together with Rosaline, of course, who's been bustling about all day, watching over everything like a hawk and pouncing on everyone who looks like they might put so much as one toe out of line. She still looks a little stressed out, even though everyone is behaving and there haven't even been any fights between members of their families. She needs to relax and let loose a little bit, he decides – and what better way to do that than by dancing?

But just when he's reached her and is about to ask her to dance, Benvolio is interrupted by Mercutio popping up beside them, grinning broadly.

“Guess where you're standing?”, he singsongs, somewhat confusingly.

“By the dance floor?”, Benvolio suggests, hoping this will allow him to transition into asking Rosaline to dance.

“True. But what are you standing under?”

He looks up and sees it at the same time Rosaline does, although she's a lot quicker to react.

“Mistletoe? I didn't approve mistletoe.”

“Well, there's nothing to _approve_ here – it's a Christmas tradition, this is a Christmas-themed wedding.” Mercutio explins, still grinning. “Obviously, there has to be mistletoe. And obviously, since you're the first two people caught under it...”

Benvolio's stomach drops. He may have thought about this since last night (and maybe even before that, once or twice), but even if he doesn't object to the idea of kissing Rosaline Capulet per se, he definitely objects to the thought of doing it now, as a joke, before an audience – mostly because he can't imagine Rosaline being particularly cool with it. But when he looks at Rosaline, trying to figure out how to refuse without making it seem like _she's_ the reason, she's smiling, calm as you please.

“Come on, Montague – let's get this over with then.”

It's definitely odd that she's not protesting, but before he can think about why that might be, Rosaline is already stepping closer, one hand on his shoulder as she leans in, and suddenly she's kissing him and that's about it for his rational thinking skills.

Her kiss is soft but not shy – there's nothing _shy_ about Rosaline Capulet – and most intriguingly, it's not the quick peck he'd expect, the cut-and-dry approach he thought she would take to “get this over with”. Instead it's slow, lips slightly parted, and he understands: It's an _invitation._ If he wants to, it tells him, he's welcome to make more of this kiss.

He doesn't even have to think about it: The moment he understands Rosaline's invitation, he's pulling her close to take her up on it, in a way that leaves no doubt about the fact that he very much wants to make more of this kiss.

It doesn't last long – they do have an audience after all – just long enough that when he pulls back, it is to find Rosaline looking at him with hooded eyes, her gaze heavy on him and her fingers flexing (involuntarily?) where they're still resting on his shoulder.

Beside them, Mercutio claps his hands, and Rosaline jumps and draws back her hand.

"Wonderful! Now we can all dance and be merry."

With that, everyone who gathered around them to watch and cheer disperses again, leaving the two of them to stand awkwardly before each other – until Mercutio returns once more to continue his meddling by giving them each a shove on the back that makes them stumble forward.

"I said _dance_!"

He has that look on his face that tells Benvolio he'll get his way no matter the protest, and Benvolio holds out his hand for Rosaline to take.

"Shall we? I don't think we'll get this one off our backs otherwise."

Rosaline laughs, and Benvolio feels an unexpected flutter of relief. She may have been okay with kissing him, but he realizes now that he was still afraid she'd want to get as far away from him as possible afterwards.

But instead of fleeing, Rosaline takes his hand and lays her other hand on his shoulder, and when he pulls her close by the small of her back, she yields easily and lets him lead her into a slow waltz.

" _Frosted windowpanes, candles gleaming inside_..." the singer starts a slower, softer take on the cheerful classic, and Benvolio briefly wonders if he'll get away with just staying quiet for the duration of the song.

Probably not.

"I'm sorry about the mistletoe," he begins, sure that his palms are getting sweatier by the second. "I swear I had nothing to do with it."

Rosaline remains silent for a moment, just long enough to make him think she's pissed about the mistletoe after all. And then, presumably just to make his heart stop entirely, she looks up and says:

"I'm not... sorry."

He's still processing that statement when she adds:

"It was nice."

He should be offended that his kissing skills are being rated "nice" - but considering Rosaline's high standards for everything, he'll gladly take "nice". In fact, he thinks, suddenly feeling reckless, he'll take “nice” and run with it and see where it gets them.

"Nice enough to want to do it again?"

His heart is beating madly in his chest while he waits for her reply.

"Unless there's some bridesmaid you intended to hook up with....", Rosaline suggests coyly, knowing full well that there isn't.

"No," he cuts her off, breathless with excitement, "no, there's absolutely no one else."

And before she can tease him any more, he takes her hand and pulls her out the nearest exit, the one that led them to the balcony last night.

" _It's that time of year when the world falls in love_...", the music continues, before the door falls shut behind them and it becomes unintelligible, no more than a warble in the background.

Benvolio pulls her just a little further outside, out of view from the window, and just like that, they're alone.

"Oh, you meant right now," Rosaline comments, again with that mischievous glint in her eyes that is quickly turning into his most delightful discovery about her – but her voice sounds just a little breathless, and Benvolio takes it as a sign that she's not as cool as she pretends to be either.

"No time like the present, right?"

“Yeah,” Rosaline breathes. “No time like the present.”

But if he expected her to go all in now, Benvolio was wrong: Rosaline stays in place for a moment, her hand playing with his collar as she looks at him, searching, and for a moment he's afraid that she's regretting her decision to do this. Then she leans in and lets her lips brush over his, a ghost of a touch until it turns firmer, more decided, and he understands: She's taking her time. They had an audience before, after all, but now they're all alone, with no one looking for them (he hopes) and no old prejudices standing in their way. The party inside that they worked for so hard may be about their cousins, but this quiet little moment is about _them_. They can savour every second of it – and that's exactly what they do, slowly and softly and then more and more passionately, until Rosaline ends up pressed against the cold wall, her arms around his back pulling him flush against her.

When he breaks away, briefly and with inhuman effort, she looks dazed and out of breath, her hair escaping from its updo and her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks sexy and radiant and Benvolio can't believe his luck that she's here, with him, right now.

“I take it you still don't regret standing unter that mistletoe?”

Her eyes flash and he expects a sharp comeback for his teasing – but instead, she only shrugs “Nope!” and pulls him in for another kiss.

They only get back inside when not even Benvolio's chivalrously offered jacket is enough to keep Rosaline from shivering in her dress, and for a moment, Benvolio is afraid that that will be it: They'll be swept up again in some wedding-related issue, and then they'll go home and all this night will ever be is another wedding where they made out with some random person they'll never speak to again – and that is the last thing Benvolio wants.

Luckily, it looks like Rosaline doesn't want that either. She pulls him back to the dance floor, and once they've danced until they're warmed up again, she finds them some drinks and a nice, quiet corner, and before he knows it, they're huddled together, nursing their drinks and watching Romeo and Juliet dance slowly, blissful smiles on their faces and the rest of the world completely forgotten.

"We really pulled it off," Rosaline observes, awe in her voice."

"I didn't doubt us for a second."

Rosaline's raised eyebrow clearly conveys her skepticism.

"Right."

"I mean, it was a little touch and go when you walked out on me. But I never doubted you – from the moment I first saw you with that gigantic folder and your determined face on, I knew you'd pull it off."

"Well, I had help."

"We did make a pretty good team, didn't we?"

Rosaline smiles in confirmation, which is probably what prompts his next words.

"We should keep that up."

"Are you saying you want to go into wedding planning with me?"

"Well, maybe not professionally. But there might be some other events we could set up."

"Like what?"

"Like... Christmas?" Rosaline's brow crinkles in confusion, and he explains hastily: "Romeo and Juliet have been talking about putting together their own Christmas dinner so they can celebrate without their parents killing each other. We could join them. Livia and Mercutio could come too, and we could have a Christmas of our own. It won't be the same as what you and Livia used to have, but I promise it will be better than dinner at your aunt and uncle's."

Rosaline doesn't answer, simply staring at him for way too long, and Benvolio suddenly feels stupid. What the hell was he thinking, springing this on her? They just kissed for the first time, and suddenly he's suggesting they spend Christmas together? That he could replace the family she's lost? How ridiculously presumptuous!

"I mean, you don't have to decide right away. It was just…"

He doesn't get any further, because Rosaline is leaning over and cutting him off with another kiss.

"I'd like that. And it doesn't have to be the _exact_ same way it used to be – I'm probably remembering it through rose-tinted glasses anyway. We can make our own traditions, pick whatever we like to do."

Benvolio is stunned. Not only is she agreeing to his spur-of-the-moment idea, but she likes it so much she wants to turn it into a tradition? That's... A lot more than he thought he'd get out of this conversation. It makes him giddily happy, so much that he gets perhaps a little overexcited.

" _Whatever_ we want?"

"What are you thinking?

"I'm thinking as our centerpiece for the dinner table we could get an ice sculpture. Perhaps chiseled after a photo of the six of us..."

For a moment, Rosaline stares at him silently, then she laughs, apparently deciding to treat his suggestion as nothing more than a joke.

"How about we start planning the actual dinner, and once that is done and you still have the time and the energy, you get to work on that ice sculpture?"

She pats his knee softly, a patronising gesture clearly meant to suggest that she doesn't believe he's serious and thus doesn't consider it worth her time to stop him.

Which is how she commits one big mistake: She doesn't _actually_ say no. Not to him, not to the idea of celebrating Christmas together, and not even to his plans for another ice sculpture.

Benvolio smiles softly to himself. He'll let Rosaline decide how she wants their Christmas dinner to go – but he might just add a little bit of a personal touch.

  
*** _Rosaline_ ***

On Christmas Eve, Rosaline opens the door of her apartment to find Benvolio standing outside in a Christmas sweater that can only be described as “blindingly festive”. And yet, the sweater is not the thing that captures her attention: What really makes her freeze in place is what Benvolio is holding in his hands: A lapdog-sized ice sculpture of... a woman?

Rosaline can only stare at it silently while Benvolio holds it out for her to study, beaming proudly.

“It's supposed to be you! I made it myself.”

Rosaline is still processing that bit of information when he adds:

“It was the most beautiful thing I could think of.” His smile turns soft, almost bashful – but only for a moment, before it turns apologetic. “It's also starting to melt, so I hope you have a big freezer.”

This, Rosaline thinks, this is why she's falling for him a little more each day: The fact that he can say something impossibly romantic even while he's in the process of making life difficult for her.

Still, for the past weeks since Romeo and Juliet's wedding, the sweet, funny, irresistible side of him has definitely outweighed his penchant for irritating her. Benvolio has brought an onslaught of Christmas spirit into her life, sandwiches to her office for lunch and long, delicious evenings spent making out on the sofa into her usually empty apartment, and now that he has, she doesn't know how she used to be content without those things before.

All things considered, teaming up with Benvolio Montague has only led to good things so far – so maybe she should trust her instincts on this one too, and just let him have the stupid ice sculpture.

By the time she regrets that decision because the statue has melted and flooded her kitchen while they were all in the living-room exchanging presents, Rosaline is too drunk on eggnog and happiness to even be mad. All it takes for her to forgive him is a promise that he'll mop everything up himself, followed by one of those damned addictive kisses.

She'll hold on to him, for now – at least until next Christmas.

 


End file.
